


there's nothing more certain in life

by lobotomycastiel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mentions of crystal healing, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Snarky Steve Rogers, Tax Fraud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: Tony Stark is a young, freshly-disinherited entrepreneur trying to navigate the world of tax returns. Enter Steve Rogers, the one tax preparer willing to risk it all for him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	there's nothing more certain in life

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all in one sitting and you can definitely tell. Beta'd by the lovely stevesnarkrogers on Discord, and directly inspired by [this YouTube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INPswB2dtDQ&t=174s).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Living on his own has been hard on Tony Stark. 

For all his posturing, getting kicked out and written out of the will at twenty-two because of a fight with his father had come completely out of left field. He’s managed to scrape by with his last few thousand dollars and open up a small machine repair shop out of his rented townhouse in Brooklyn. With some careful networking and a lot of luck, he thinks he’ll finally have enough money and investors to get a building and start independently inventing in two years. 

However, none of that changes the fact that it’s tax season and he has no idea what he’s doing. He looked at the forms and they just made him cry. 

This is how he finds himself in front of H&R Block on a chilly April day. He  _ thinks _ he has all of the necessary forms, but he hopes they have printers in there because he’s undoubtedly forgotten something. 

The office is busy this morning, with quiet chatter coming from all around the small, very beige space. The carpet is a dull tan, the overhead lights are dim, yellowed, and oppressive, and the walls are a sickly shade of brown-green. Tony has never hated a place more. He scans the room, looking for someone who can help him, and finds one person with a free desk. 

A small wooden and brass nameplate indicates that his tax preparer’s name is Steven G. Rogers. Steven is a thin, angular man with a sandy blonde buzzcut that dresses like an art student from Boston University who gave up on his dreams and got a CPA certification like his father told him to. He’s wearing a flannel shirt under a pair of overalls, paired with loafers all in the same beige that Tony’s come to associate with the fugue state that is the Brooklyn H&R Block. 

His desk is also littered with an absurd amount of crystals. 

When the other man sees Tony approaching he groans and puts his head on his desk. Tony pauses, standing awkwardly at Steven’s desk for what feels like minutes, but ultimately decides to sit down and just wait for either Steven to help him or for someone else to become available. Just when it looks like Steven’s desk neighbor, Phil Coulson, might be available, he sits up and addresses Tony for the first time. 

“Alright, what are we working with?” Steven sniffles a little before taking Tony’s forms from him, and that’s when Tony notices the miniature trashcan full of tissues beside Steven’s desk. His tax preparer has a cold but still came into work, lovely. 

“Uh, hello. I’m Tony, it’s nice to meet you, Steven,” Tony says, holding his hand out to shake Steven’s hand. 

Steven coughs into his elbow and then turns back to Tony, “Call me Sick Steve. Nice to meet you, Tony. Let’s get started on this monstrosity.” Steve then starts clicking around on his ancient 1990s-era desktop, ostensibly starting the process of filing Tony’s taxes. 

“That’s horrible, your coworkers call you Sick Steve?” Tony is starting to think that H&R Block is a godless land, much like his high school had been. 

“I call  _ myself _ Sick Steve, Stephen is over there,” he points at a man with brown hair and a goatee across the room, “and I have to distinguish myself from him somehow. He’s from France or something.”

There’s an English flag on Stephen’s desk and a Chelsea FC banner on the wall behind him. Tony immediately categorizes Steve (he’s absolutely  _ not _ calling the other man ‘Sick Steve,’ he doesn’t care), as one of the funniest people he’s ever met. He laughs out loud, which earns Tony glares from everyone around him but gets him a sly smile from Steve. 

“What else can you tell me about your coworkers?”

Steve continues clicking around on the computer, typing occasionally. “Phil gets the best Yelp reviews but, between you and me he’s kind of a priss.”

Tony lets out another laugh not caring about the looks he gets, “Pretty sure it’s not between you and me anymore, considering he’s like two feet away from you.”

They settle into an easy banter after that, interspersed with Steve asking him for bits of information to fill out his return. The only problem, unbeknownst to Tony, comes towards the very end of his appointment. 

“It’s not looking so good, Tony. You said you work from home, right?”

“Yes, why?” Tony’s immediately on edge. 

“Is the  _ sole  _ purpose of that room your office?”

Tony thinks about all of the nights he’s fallen asleep in the spare bedroom, and the mini-fridge he has in there that’s filled with quick snacks that can pass as meals in sufficient quantities, and shakes his head no. 

“No, I also eat and sleep in there, how come?”

Steve sighs, “Well, what I’m gonna do is claim a home office. Your return will be bigger if I do that for you.”

Tony brightens up, “Oh, thank you! Is that all?”

Steve nods and then gives him a private smirk, “Y’know, what we’re doing is massively illegal. If the IRS finds out about this, they’ll send us both to jail for a long time.”

“Wait,  _ what? _ Steve, we don’t have to claim a home office! Not if it means going to jail!”

“Too late, already did it!” Steve clicks a few more keys on his computer and sits back, looking satisfied with himself. 

“WHY?”

Steve looks at him like he’s an idiot, “Because if they see you do anything except work inside your office then it’s not an office anymore, it’s a multi-use room, which no longer qualifies you for the tax break you get for a home office.”

“No, I mean  _ why would you do that? _ Steve, why are you committing crimes on my behalf?”

“Oh, that. Well you see, I’m a nihilist.” Steve can barely keep a straight face as he says this, which Tony doesn’t exactly appreciate, due to the gravity of the situation. 

“Uh-huh, a nihilist who works in tax preparation. How many goddamn Jason Statham movies have you watched this past month? Lemme guess, you’re gonna go watch Fast and Furious 74, or however many they’re on, right after you get off work?”

“Is that your way of asking me out on a movie date?”

Well, that’s a turn of events. Steve  _ is  _ attractive, sharp-jawed with bright blue eyes and a quick wit to match Tony’s own. Plus, if he dated Steve and they moved in together, he would never have to come back to this wretched building ever again, he could do his taxes at home. 

“It could be?”

Steve laughs at how uncertain Tony sounds, “If you get audited and I get subpoenaed to hell and back as a result, this date of ours is gonna look so bad in court. I’m in, I get off at three.”

“Your fantasies of serving hard time with me are worrying. We’re not watching the new Fast and Furious if it’s going to inspire more of  _ this _ .”

  
  


Steve scoffs at him, almost admonishing him for, oh, Tony doesn’t know, having self-preservation instincts. “Come on, don’t you want to at least  _ see _ what Lady Liberty’s Time-Out Corner is like?” He gathers up Tony’s forms and hands them back to him. 

Tony takes his forms back and neatens them out, giggling despite himself, “Don’t call prison ‘Lady Liberty’s Time-Out Corner,’ you weirdo.”

Steve looks at him fondly, then reaches into a drawer and hands him a smooth blue-green stone, striated with black bands. It’s the prettiest stone Tony’s ever seen, and his mother has a collection of custom jewelry from Cartier. “For you—it’s malachite, it’ll protect you from the IRS.” 

Oh, of  _ course, _ he has a crystal thing-y for that. It makes his life sound pathetic, but this weird rock is probably one of the most thoughtful gifts Tony’s ever received. 

Phil, who Tony is certain has been eavesdropping on their conversation for the past fifteen minutes, leans over from his desk and onto Steve’s.“Oh my God! You never give your rocks to anybody, you just hoard them!”

Steve scowls at him, “Shut _up_ , you are the _worst_ work friend ever, I am _trying_ to help my client!”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to smirk at Steve, “So I’ll see you at three?”

Steve gives him an earnest smile back, “See you at three. I hope the government doesn’t repossess your car by then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr as [theotherwasdeath](http://theotherwasdeath.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated :D


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